by J. L. Salter
Muir stood and, as before, attempted to move toward her.
“Please remember not to approach me.” Danielle’s hand poised vertically.
“I still don’t think I understand why we can’t be closer.” He frowned slightly. “You seem so far away.”
“I am far away, Mr. Muir… much farther that you can imagine.” She tried to smile, hoping to soften the impending blow. “For, you see, I am not really here in front of you.”
“Yes you are.” He pointed. “You’re standing right in front of your painting.”
Danielle sighed. “That is where I placed my manifestation, but I do not have a physical form. What you see is the energy I have assembled and positioned.”
After a groaning shrug, Muir slumped back into his chair and stared. “So I’m not looking at you? Just your energy?”
“I believe that is the best way to explain it. This is part of the reason the investigators with their instruments can locate spirits, or at least traces of them, but not actually perceive anything with their visual receptors.”
“You should be on the science channel.”
“I do not understand.”
“Sorry, I was being sarcastic. I just meant that you said a lot of words but they didn’t help me understand.”
“Which part is most confusing to you, Mr. Muir?”
“Why I can’t be closer to you.”
“But I just explained. What else bothers you?”
Muir took a slow sip of his beverage. “Whether you’re really here.” Then he put both hands on his face and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Or if I’m just delusional and heading further toward post-traumatic stress.”
“I can intuit enough of your thoughts to grasp that you refer to stress over the trauma you experienced while serving your country. I am not able to assist you with the recovery from those residual feelings and worries.” Danielle searched for a way to explain. “But I assure you my spirit is real and right here in this suite where I used to reside and which you now occupy.”
He looked up, apparently relieved. “Well, the business about assembling your energy into this form… is this really the way you looked when you lived here?”
She glanced down at her own image. “Oh, I believe I understand your confusion. You want to know if I have gilded the lily, if I am pretending to have been prettier than I truly was.”
Muir nodded. “I know from the portrait that you were beautiful. I can see with my own eyes that you are even more gorgeous, but I also know the mind can play tricks. And if you possess the power to shape energy into a visible form, then you could say you were Elizabeth Taylor and poof, there’s Liz.”
“I do not know that individual. Is she local?”
“She’s a movie star. Was. Dead now, I think. Maybe you’ve seen her on your side.” He groaned.
“All the dead souls do not gather in one room and shake hands, Mr. Muir. I regret I have not met your friend and I do not understand your reference.”
Muir strode to the north-facing window and searched outside for something. “Okay, here’s an example. “Over there on top of that building,” he pointed across the square toward a small building between the Little Magnolia Theater and the Magnolia Herald newspaper offices. “There’s a huge billboard with a woman’s face on it.”
Danielle moved behind Muir and looked over his shoulder before shifting back again. “Yes, I see it.”
“If you wanted to, could you make your energy look like that woman?” It was the Archer Photography shop and the image advertised local studio portraits.
She peered again and smiled softly. “I should not wish to resemble that woman, in point of fact, but if it were needed to accomplish contact with a mortal, I suppose it would be theoretically possible for me to appear in that form.”
“Aha!” Muir sat back down with a satisfied whump. “So you admit you could appear as a gorgeous woman if it suited you to do so, in order to make an impression on a human guy like me.”
“I finally comprehend the basis of your anxiety. You think I have generated this form simply to entice you.”
“Exactly. And I’ve seen movies where guys get all drooly over a beautiful ghost and as soon as they kiss, the camera pulls back and all the viewers can easily see that she’s actually a worm-eaten carcass of an old hag.”
Danielle’s tears started as soon as her shivers began. “You distress me, sir, with your talk of dead bodies. Certainly my mortal remains, buried one hundred years ago after being crushed by that train, would be mere dust by this time. It is not my physical body which visits you, Mr. Muir, but my spirit. You demanded to inspect me visually and now you chastise me about the form my energy assumes.” She paused for a deep breath. “Yes, I could assume the shape of a horned dragon if I wished to terrify a persistent investigator, but I have come to you as myself, the dismayed heiress forced into betrothal with a disdainful stranger. This is how I appeared, sir, on the night my life ended. And this is the form my energy takes when I wish to share that image with someone I believe might care enough to delve beyond these superficialities.” Another pause. “But I see I have mistaken you for a gentleman, when in fact, you are merely a…”
“I’m sorry, Danielle.” Muir’s voice was barely audible. “I apologize.” He reached his hands toward her but did not rise from his chair, as previously instructed. “Sometimes my thoughts go screwy and I get confused about what’s what. I didn’t mean to offend you and I won’t press the issue again.”
Danielle dabbed her tears with a dainty lace kerchief from her sleeve, but did not speak.
“Please forgive me for hurting you. That wasn’t my intention. I sometimes don’t explain my confusion very well.”
“I accept your apology, Mr. Muir. And I regret that I am not better able to explain things to your satisfaction.” She sniffled as she tucked the kerchief back into her lightly ruffled cuff. “Some of what I face in this ongoing condition is also disturbing to me. I do not know every answer or else I would possibly have secured my release long before now. Please believe that I do not deliberately deceive you about what I know and what I can control.”
“Since I’m not terribly good with my questions, would you rather that I not ask you anymore?”
“You may inquire, but please do not badger me if my reply does not satisfy you.”
“Okay. Fair enough.”
“What else do you wish to know?”
“Why did your father get rid of the man you fell in love with and force you to hook up with that bum Fairley?”
When she explained, Danielle’s tears returned and it took her a while to recover.
“That basically jibes with what I learned from the archives curator yesterday. Except he didn’t mention anything about your father threatening to horsewhip the man you loved.”
“Father could be quite brutal to get his way and he knew I would realize his threat was far from empty. Had I corresponded further with Neddy, he would have been badly beaten or possibly killed.”
“Killed?”
Danielle nodded. “I do not doubt it. This union with Fairley was extremely important to him, presumably because significant timber contracts were in the balance, and Father still believed the old school way of running his family.”
“So your old man basically sold you to Fairley for some timber business?”
“That is a crude manner of expressing it, but nevertheless accurately conveys what occurred. And you can comprehend why I resisted that marriage, why I fled that night.”
“And that’s the reason you committed suicide?”
“No! It was not suicide!”
“It wasn’t? But everybody says…”
“I was reckless and desperate, but I was merely running away. I was only trying to cross that track. At first I did not even see the train coming. Then, seeing it, I thought I had time. But the hem of my dress got caught. An unavoidable accident.”
“Not suicide.” He exhaled loudly. “So
suicide’s not the reason you’re stuck in this limbo whatever.”
“My inability to move on seems related to that suicide theory only in the sense that after one hundred years I am still unable to correct this grossly misconstrued belief.”
“To correct the record.”
“Yes. And I believe I must remain where I am until I can somehow accomplish that.”
“Is that the only thing holding you here?”
“No. I perceive there are other factors, but they are hazy to me. No mortal has yet been of any use in clearing that fog.”
“Which is why you don’t care for those spirit chasers.”
“All the investigators who have approached me are searching for something else that somehow benefits them. They have not been truly interested in helping me move on.”
“But they usually say they are.”
Danielle nodded. “Yes, mortals typically say what is necessary to obtain what they want.”
Muir had no reply.
“One of the sweetest things about Neddy was that he had no guile whatsoever.”
“He must be the guy who gave you the music box.” Muir pointed toward the one in her portrait.
“Yes, and I am certain it cost him a week’s wages, if not more.”
“What happened to it?”
“I do not know. So many things disappeared. It is something of a marvel that my parlor has managed to remain in some semblance of how I left it.” She scanned the room quickly. “Though I wish you would move the small wooden table from the entrance over next to the fireplace. I can push things but not lift them.”
“Will do. I think I know exactly where it goes.” Muir pointed toward the two indentions in the Oriental rug. “Is there anything else you want moved around?”
“Well, my writing desk — presently in the bedroom — should be behind that screen in the corner. And I would like it very much if my portrait was hanging once again.”
Muir looked about the suite. “I’ll be happy to hang it back up. Where?”
“Originally, it was on that wall,” she indicated the kitchen. “You see, our family suite included the rooms of what is now next door. But now, I believe I should like the painting on this wall, next to the fireplace and directly above the table, once you position it properly.”
“I’ll do it right now.” He jumped up and went to the entrance, returning in a matter of moments with the small item. Positioned with the outermost feet in the exact depressions of the carpet, the table was precisely midway between the end of the hearth and the edge of that wall. “How’s that?”
“Lovely. And when you have the proper tools, my portrait…”
“Right. Directly above the table.”
Danielle smiled as she looked where the painting had formerly hung. “My parents slept in that other portion. The original bathing facility was accessible from their bedroom by one door and also from the parlor, which is how I entered.”
“Why did they carve out that other space?”
“I do not know, but it pained me to see the suite altered. I tried to frighten the workmen, but their noise and commotion was too jarring for me, so I relented.”
“When did that take place?”
“I am unable to discern time in mortal years. I can only describe the people I encounter and tell you the order in which I saw them.”
“When would it have been in that sequence?”
Danielle thought for a moment. “After a long period with no activity and no visits to the suite, suddenly a large number of workmen appeared.”
“That must have been the 1970s. Lucy told me the entire hotel was vacant for around fifteen years or so before renovations began.”
“This woman, Miss Tierney — she remains interested in you.”
“Hope so, but I’m not sure.”
“She wonders whether she has captured your attention.”
“I’m very interested. But I think you’ve misinterpreted her contact with me,” he said sadly. “She’s a ghost hunter, someone who spends her free time chasing spirits and taking measurements, compiling data. We’re colleagues and I think we’ve become friends. But if she has any other interest in me, it’s probably only to use me to reach you.”
“It may surprise you to know that she and I already have established contact.”
“When?” Muir appeared truly startled. “Where?”
“The afternoon she was here, as she helped you retrieve my portrait.”
“She didn’t say anything to me.”
“Did you provide her an opportunity, Mr. Muir?”
“I thought so. I mean, I didn’t ask her, but wouldn’t Lucy mention it if she’d seen you?”
“It was not visual energy. We connected in a way you might think of as telepathic.”
“So, what did you and Lucy discuss?”
Danielle giggled softly. “You, mostly.”
“Huh?” That got his attention.
“Well, she was thinking that you did not appear to return her interest and it worried her how much you seemed attracted to me, even at that early phase… before you and I had made direct contact.”
Muir was silent as he digested what he’d been told.
Such a shame that she had to harness and redirect his romantic attention to help with her cause. “I must depart soon, Mr. Muir.”
“No. Stay and visit some more. Please.”
He was thoroughly entranced. “It is not my choice, Mr. Muir. To appear in this visible form requires an enormous amount of energy and concentration. After some time, I am too weakened to continue. I must leave.”
“Do you promise to return?”
“I believe I have explained that ladies do not swear oaths, but I grant you my pledge.”
Muir grinned crookedly. “How do I know you’ll keep your pledge?”
“Spirits cannot lie. Well, evil spirits can, but I am not evil.”
“I know. I realized that when I smelled your perfume.”
“How so, Mr. Muir?”
“Don’t know. It just came into my head, like telepathy I guess.”
Danielle chose not to reveal to him how much access and control she already had upon his thoughts, or how much more she may have to exercise.
“By the way, what is that fragrance I smell when I think you’re very close? Is it verbena?”
“Oh, no. I found that odor of verbena too strong, too medicinal. This was something special Father imported from France. I doubt you would know it.”
“Well, whatever it is, I approve. When I smell it, I know you’re about to show up… or sometimes it’s a brief reminder of you, right after you’ve just left.”
“It is nice to be noticed by one’s scent, but impolite to be overpowering.”
Muir grinned as he shook his head. “Sometimes it is overpowering, but I don’t mind. Not one bit. I told Lucy it smells like a herd of butterflies.”
Danielle would have to ponder that image, but later when she had more energy. At present, her manifestation was fading.
Muir clearly noticed. “So you’ll come back later?”
“In one sense, Mr. Muir, I am always here. But in the manner you will comprehend, I only appear at certain times. Sometimes you will see me, but other times you will hear me.”
“Why do you whisper occasionally, but hum that melody at other times?”
“It depends upon my mood.”
He smiled again. “So female spirits are moody too?”
“Good night, Mr. Muir.”
Chapter Ten
Wednesday, August 20
Lucy could not understand how differently Levi had behaved since Monday’s supper. Or had it been since his conversation with Miss Gregg’s spirit later that evening? Whichever. The Levi who had seemed warm and interested, and even comedic with his camera, now acted coolish and distracted. It was nearly as though someone had flipped a switch in his noggin. Almost like he was in a trance.
At school, she had conferred with Anna, who — in typical
chirpy and perky fashion — had tried to spin the entire matter as simply the stress of the first several school days on both Levi and Lucy. Maybe… maybe not.
The only time on Tuesday that Lucy and Levi had been together was literally the three seconds when they’d passed in the faculty lounge doorway. She’d been inside waiting for him and he’d rushed in as she was finally leaving. Bummer.
“I’m certainly not going to chase after him like he’s the BMOC and I’m the pimply gawky girl with knobby knees,” Lucy said to herself, then turned to be certain it had not been heard by anyone. The best way to deal with such situations was text messaging, so she sent him a short invitation to join her, Dutch, for supper. “Meet @ Tower 4 Pizza? Seven.”
During his next break Muir texted back, “Magnolia has tower?”
She’d forgotten Levi was not only a newbie to teaching but also a new guy in town. She responded, “Leaning Tower, X frm courthouse.”
“OK,” was his texted reply.
As an afterthought she started to send a text offering to pick him up if he couldn’t find it but realized the courthouse should be visible from at least two of Muir’s hotel windows.
At 6:30 p.m. Lucy stared into her bedroom mirror and tried to decide how to dress for a Dutch treat date she had arranged. Could not keep on what she’d worn to school that day, but also didn’t want to look as though she’d gone to any trouble. After all, if Levi was cooling off, it would appear too desperate for her to dress like she was trying to interest him. “Stop it, Lucy,” she addressed the mirror, “you’re over analyzing this. And if you keep this up, your neuroses will drive this guy away.”
She groaned and tried to arrive at a pithy debate point, but her inner voice was correct — she was thinking too hard and worrying too much. The proper attire for pizza in Magnolia was jeans and sneakers. In late August, a collared golf shirt was considered formal, so she grabbed her deep blue t-shirt with a small Spirit-Chaser logo over the left breast.
Once in her car, it took only five minutes to reach the Leaning Tower of Pizza.
Levi was already there, in the same outfit he’d worn at school. He smiled and reached for her hand — not to shake, but to hold.
